


sure as the sun will rise

by alchemystique



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-09 23:40:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10424427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alchemystique/pseuds/alchemystique
Summary: Belle and Adam adjust to life in the castle just fine, except they can't seem to keep from trying to tear each others clothes off whenever possible.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is who I am now. This is what I've become. Join me in this dumpster on tumblr, I'm alchemistc.Some of her ire leaves her as she stares down at him, with his mussy bed head and still sleepy eyes, staring up at her in something she might call reverence, if she were to name it.

It’s the summons from the King that does it.

Everything is going fine - swimmingly, really, up until the moment Lumiere drops the card in Adam’s lap and scurries away at the annoyed look on the other man’s face, so very familiar to Belle that she has to cover her mouth with the book on her lap to hide her amusement.

Over the edge of the book, she can see him reading through the letter, his brow furrowing, his lips thinning, his expression turning mutinous. She half expects him to tear the letter into pieces and fling it into the air, his flair for the dramatic being what it is.

Instead, she watches him carefully curl his fist around it, stand slowly, and take careful, measured steps across the length of the library to the hearth.

He tosses it into the flames and turns back to his chair and his book.

Well.

That won’t do.

“Is there...something wrong?”  


When he glances up, his smile is half manic. “Of course not.”

Slowly, she sets her book back down in her lap and settles him with a questioning look.

“It’s a quite complicated matter, which you -.”  


She raises a warning eyebrow.

“Which you would understand perfectly, were I to tell you all about it, but I’ve no intention of doing so, because it hardly matters.”  


She wants to ask more questions, but the matter is apparently closed, by which she means he is going to thoroughly ignore it by burying himself in his book. Greek, she notes, so he’d been _lying_ about that, and by midday she’s managed to drive herself into a tizzy over the letter and his reticence. 

Her father laughs, when she barges into the study he’s taken on as his own, and settles her with a fond smile. “Come now, perhaps you’re overreacting.”

She’s not.

The second letter he drops in a goblet of wine, his eyes narrowing while he worries his jaw and grinds his teeth.

The third he feeds to the dog without bothering to open it.

By the time the fourth comes along, she and Adam have had themselves a glorious row out in the gardens for everyone to hear, and he’s locked himself up in the west wing. If she didn’t find him so infuriating, she might laugh at him.

And since he’s not there to receive it, Belle gives Lumiere a reassuring smile and assures the man she’ll deliver it directly to its recipient. She needn’t have bothered trying to be charming, he hands it off with a nod and a grateful smile, and she’s already finished with the letter by the time Cogsworth comes sprinting - attempting it, at the very least - into the hall.

\------

Mrs. Potts is often the first to tell anyone how _romantic_ their story is, but if Belle had to choose a single word, it would be _loud_.

No one is surprised to hear the doors to his rooms echoing as she pushes them in and they bang against the walls, no one is surprised to hear them arguing in the west wing - no one is surprised when Adam attempts to avoid her by fleeing, the sound of their voices carrying across the halls and corridors as she follows.

“You can’t run away from every problem that arises, Adam!”  


“I’m not running! I’m walking. _Swiftly_!”  


“You have to answer him!”  


“Until last week he’d forgotten this entire castle and the village beyond existed! I don’t have to answer anything!”  


The voices fade as they disappear into the library together, and no one follows. They’ll sort things out for themselves. 

\------

“There’s nothing for it. We’ll have to marry now, before he can attempt to get one of his wretched daughters here to sink their hooks in me.”  


“...no.”  


Adam rounds on her, more confusion on his face than anything else, and Belle moves forward to ease her fingers over the furrow of his brow. He swallows, painfully, it seems, as he searches her gaze. “No?”

“Well, I’m sorry, but that was an even worse proposal than the last I received.”  


“Fine. Belle, will you please do me the honor of -.”  


“No,” she tells him, more firmly this time, and he huffs.  


“What on earth are you on about, woman?”

She explains it to him, her words stilted, trying to make him understand. It’s not that she doesn’t want to be here, with him. It’s not that she doesn’t want to spend her life with him, it’s just...

“I won’t be your little wife, traipsing around like a bauble on your arm before the court.” Before she’s said the words she knows they’re cruel. He wouldn’t dream of her in such a way. “That’s not - I don’t...”

Understanding dawns, his eyes softening as he takes her hands in his own.

“I suppose you’ve been forced into a great number of things without a choice of your own,” he says, looking wryly at her. “Although I had hoped...someday...” He carefully cups both of her hands in one of his own so that he can brush a lock of hair behind her ear, and there is something serious and warm in his gaze, something that makes her blush to the tips of her toes. She can feel his wandering eyes admiring the blush along her neck.  


Belle clears her throat, something clenching in her gut. They’ve shared more than a few kisses by now, some of which she’d left wild-eyed and shaking, terrified more of the fire in her blood than the responding flame in his eyes, his fingers making a mess of her hair and the laces of his shirt half undone. This is the same feeling, but there is a promise, there, too, of something more.

“Adam, I spent half a year in this castle with only the furniture for chaperones. I’ve been thoroughly ruined in every way except the one you seem so concerned about, at the moment.”  


It is his turn to cough, his cheeks rising with color. “I didn’t mean...”

Belle presses closer to him, taking the lapels of his jacket in her hands, grinning up at him as she steps into the space between his boots. He gulps.

Her breath brushes across the hollow of his throat moments before she presses her lips to the pulse point on the side of his neck, and one of his hands slides across the small of her back, a groan rumbling from deep in his chest. 

“Whenever you’re ready to mean it, please inform me,” she whispers, and spins away with a coquettish grin, catching sight of his dazed look a moment before he disappears from her view as she rounds a corner.  


\------

The next day, she helps him compose a letter to the King, and is surprised to find him much more diplomatic than she. 

“We can’t tell him that,” Adam says, his fingers toying with a lock of her hair as he leans over her shoulder, his breath hot on her neck.   


It’s altogether quite distracting, and she balls up the piece of parchment to start over when she realizes she’s let the ink drift halfway across the page.

“Well, it’s true. Your father may have promised him support, even offered him an alliance, but it’s still  _your_ kingdom, and he can’t order you around.”  


He grins against her cheek and plucks the quill from her hand. “I do enjoy you in a mood.”

She plucks it right back. “And a good thing, since you drive me to irritation on a daily basis.”

“Perhaps I do it on purpose.” Any sense of propriety he might have had, she seemed to have dashed the day before, as evidenced by the way his gaze drops pointedly to the lace of her gown. 

“The letter, first,” she demands, and he presses his lips to her hair in acquiescence.   


Together they manage something resembling diplomatic, and she’s barely blotted the wax with his seal before he’s spun her and hauled her up on the table, sidling between her open legs as his hands make a disaster of the hair she hadn’t bothered to pull up this morning. 

“We’ll -.” She sighs when his lips find a spot beneath her jaw he’d discovered a few weeks before, her fingers working into the collar of his shirt. “We’ll send the letter in the morning.”  


“If you wish it,” he tells her, fingertips trailing along her shoulder, now, his thumb catching on the line of her collarbone.

“Adam,” she attempts to admonish, but his other hand is curling around her waist, tugging her closer to him, so she can feel the press of his hard length against her thigh.   


“ _Belle_ ,” he teases, and she forgets to worry about the king for a few moments, her own hands beginning their own wandering. His jaw is covered in a few weeks worth of hair, but she’d found, to her quiet dismay, that it took him _ages_ to grow a beard, and it’s still a fine stubble, rasping against her fingertips.

She makes a high, keening noise, low in her throat, when his palm passes by the side of her breast on it’s journey to meet it’s fellow at her waist, and he pauses, pulling back to glance at her face. 

“Don’t you dare get chivalrous on me _now_.”  


His laugh is clear and rumbling, and it’s sets her aflame, makes her tug more ferociously at the laces of his shirt, desperate to feel the downy soft dusting of hair on his chest. He catches her lips in his own, his laughter swallowed by her tongue in a moment.

It is, of course, that same moment that they hear her father’s voice echoing along the corridor outside, and Chip’s excited one too, and he makes a noise of frustration that leaves her feeling both overwhelmingly satisfied and quite miffed at the interruption. 

Her father rounds the corner to the wing they are in just as Belle is straightening her skirts, and the three of them all pause, staring at each other while Chip rattles on at her father’s hip.

“Papa,” Belle says, immediately regretting it when her voice comes out much higher than she would like.  


“Belle.” He shifts his gaze. “Adam.”  


“Beautiful day, Maurice,” Adam responds with a desperate wave of his hand, just as Belle notices how badly she’s mussed his hair.  


“Yes. Quite beautiful. Perhaps we should all...take a round about the gardens. Get some fresh air.”  


“Yes!” Belle cries, while at the same time Adam says, “Splendid idea!”  


\------

Weeks. They are rounding on a full month now, with someone new to stumble upon them at every turn, and Belle has gotten no further in her plans than reaching for the laces of Adam’s trousers. She’d have been happy to just follow him to his rooms one night and force him to ease the ache he’s become so proficient in causing in her, but in recent weeks the castle has been inundated by Lords and Ladies, intent on catching the favor of the newly crowned king, and Adam had been worried how it might look. Honestly.  

The King sends a missive back quickly to voice his displeasure at Adam’s letter, but he hadn’t given any demands, and Belle had half dragged her prince into a shadowy alcove to celebrate, her fingers tugging the shirt tails out of his waistband to slide her palms over the skin of his abdomen, Adam pressing her into the wall and whispering absolutely filthy things in her ear while he tugged at her bodice, fingers dancing nimbly along every inch of skin he could bare. It was pure luck they’d been in the only wing of the castle guests weren’t allowed.

It had been Cogsworth, this time, humming to himself as he tottered down the hall, shrieking the moment he noticed them, and Belle had knocked her head against the wall behind her while Adam made an attempt to shield her from view, her hand trapped between them. She had a moment to wonder what he’d do if she just...shifted her hand, just so, when Plumette rounded the opposite corner, and the shriek of frustration this time had been Belle’s.

Later, much later, as they sat across from each other, the entire length of the table in the dining hall between them in an attempt to keep some space between them, he chanced a glance up at her.

“...if we married...”  


He didn’t continue at the sight of her glare.

“I doubt that would stop us from attacking each other like dogs in heat. Besides, I have a better idea.”  


\------

“...Travelling.”  


“Yes.” Papa raises an eyebrow, his gaze flitting over Belle’s shoulder to Adam.   


“Alone.”  


“ _Yes_ ,” she intones, resisting the urge, only barely, to stamp her feet. “Papa, you know I’ve always wanted to see the world.”  


“Well, yes, that is true.”  


“I assure you, monsieur, that you could not leave her in more capable hands.”  


Belle closes her eyes, but when she opens them back up, it is to see her father staring at Adam with amusement twinkling in his gaze. “Yes. That is what I was afraid you’d say.”

“Papa, I’ve already packed. We leave on the morrow.”  


“So soon?” He’s teasing her. Her dear father is _teasing_ her, and though it must be an amusing sort of way to torture Adam, he hasn’t raised any concern other than how quickly they’d made the decision.  


“We can...delay it...for a few days...” Adam tries, and Papa’s grin turns up on one side. Belle shoots him a warning look in reply.  


“Nonsense. You’ve already made a plan. Though how you’ll find two rooms at every inn you stop at, this time of the year...”  


He trails off, still grinning, and Belle can _hear_ Adam swallow behind her.

“Papa,” she warns, and he winks over her shoulder.  


“Oh, alright, I’ve had my fun. Would you like a drink, Adam? At least one of the wines over there isn’t poisoned.”  


\------

They take the enchantresses book with them, stopping at an inn a days ride from the castle. It’s a blessing, really, that it’s been so long since anyone has seen Adam outside his castle - he goes unrecognized once they’re beyond Villeneuve.

No one bats an eye when they take a room for the night, not with the both of them dressed down, and looking like nothing more than a weary couple travelling the countryside.

And they are tired, an unfortunate side effect of travelling such a distance over horseback, one which Belle feels ridiculously annoyed with as they stumble up the stairs, yawning all the way, shoulders jostling as they attempt valiantly to remain upright.

There is only one bed, which had been the entire _point_ , but as they stare at it, all that overcomes them is a desperate desire to slumber.

“We should have used the book,” she mutters to him, and he smiles, soft and warm, and curls an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into him, pressing his lips to her hair.   


“In the morning. In the morning we’ll use the book.”  


\------

She wakes in a tangle of limbs, her fingers locked in his where his hand rests between her breasts, a thigh tucked firmly between her own, Adam hard against her back. 

She hasn’t felt so well rested in ages, and she smiles, pressing back into his warmth.

Adam hums, low in his throat, his fingers squeezing at her own. “Shall we get some food, first, or would you like to choose our destination?”

Belle blinks, unsure for a moment why the words have irritated her so, and finally curls her fingers around his own in annoyance. 

“You’re teasing me.”  


“It’s quite possible,” he mutters, his voice rumbling against her neck, amusement in his voice. “Though now we’re alone, I must admit I’m beginning to wonder if the charm of having you was being unable to.”

Belle knocks her elbow into his ribs in retaliation, using the opportunity of him dropping her hand with a muffled groan to duck under his arm. She rolls to face him, and in nearly the same breath throws a leg across his hips in an effort to straddle him, pleased to note that whatever he might say, he still rolls to the side to match her.

Some of her ire leaves her as she stares down at him, with his mussy bed head and still sleepy eyes, staring up at her in something she might call reverence, if she were to name it.

“Belle, I...”  


“No more talking,” she tells him, her hips slotting just right, and he groans, a hand darting out from the coverlet to reach for her, fingers sifting through the hair at the back of her neck, pulling her towards him.

He seems in agreement, his lips rising to meet hers. In the force of the movement she nearly bites his lip, but that only seems to spur him on, a noise she might characterize as keening leaping from his throat as he finally, finally, catches her lips in his own.

It’s not enough. Though they’d stripped wearily to their smallclothes the night before, there are still at least two layers of clothing between them, and Belle’s hands slide down as he curls his tongue against hers, nimble fingers catching at the hem of his shift and tugging them past the weight of her thighs. 

He lets out a huff of breath against her cheek when she drags her nails across his sides, but she holds herself back from letting her palms slide up and over, wanting to _see_ him, see the way gooseflesh pebbles across his skin when her fingers catch in the hair on his chest, the way he looks when he pulls in a deep breath. 

Impatient, she drags the hem up to his armpits, swaying back, ready to yank the damn thing over his head, but he chases her lips, following her until they’re both sitting up.

The change in angles causes Belle to sway her hips into his, again, and the delicious wave of electricity that rolls over her skin makes her tilt her head back.

He shucks the shirt over his head and halfway across the room in her distraction, already angling his head to press his lips to her neck, to bite and suckle at a spot below her ear, his hands already scrambling desperately for the edge of her shift. 

How he manages to get the thing off is beyond her - distracted as she is by the trail of his lips along her collarbone, down towards the freckles dotting her chest, she is grateful for the broad expanse of his palm across the skin of her back, keeping her anchored to him as he murmurs something against her breast before capturing a pebbled nipple against his tongue.

She whines, fingers scrabbling at his back for purchase, knowing she’s leaving angry red marks and not caring a wit about it.

When he tilts his head back up to capture her lips, the hand at her back slides up and into her hair, and the other slips, slow and meandering, over the neglected breast, his thumb rolling and kneading for a moment before heading lower. Belle tilts her hips in response, or retribution, she’s not entirely sure which, smiling against his lips at the rumble in his chest that follows.

He drives her backward, and she lands on her back with barely an inch to spare at the edge of the bed, but it’s hardly her biggest concern at the moment, because he is staring at her, seemingly unable to choose one place to look for long, and his expression is mildly overwhelmed. 

In a haze, she reaches out a hand to his face, curling her fingers against his jaw, her thumb sliding along the corner of his lip. 

He presses a kiss into her palm, some inkling of a decision crossing his face, and bends low to kiss her once, twice, the quick, dry press of his lips leaving her wanting, and then he blazes a path downward, his teeth scraping at her neck, his tongue dipping into the hollow of her throat. He catches a nipple in his mouth again, drawing a strangled moan from her as one hand curls against her waist, and then the heat of him is drawing away.

“What are -?” she chances a glance in the general direction he’d been heading, only for him to press his lips to her navel, and lower, lower, until he detours, frustratingly, to the small of her knee, her legs bent up on either side of him. 

“Darling, you all but demanded I grow this beard. At least let me use it to my advantage.”  


She blinks, wonderingly, as he slides his jaw over the sensitive skin of her thigh, dropping featherlight kisses as he moves closer to his goal. “Oh,” she says, and her voice is rough and low. “As you were.”

He grins against the junction of her thighs, catching her gaze for a breath of a moment, raising his brow as she watches him curiously. 

“What is it _now_?” she asks, desperate for him, desperate for something, and he tilts his head up, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom like.  


“My dear, you’re soaking wet already.” Were she not already flushed from the activities of the last few minutes, her color would surely have risen at the comment - not from embarrassment, but from the realization that Adam knew just how very much she enjoyed it when he spoke so.  


“Oh, just get _on with it!_ ”  


He doesn’t need to be told twice, and Belle forgets to think, for a while, as his tongue swirls against her, one of his hands splayed out against her thigh while the other settles between her legs. 

He slides a wet kiss along her slit, two fingers pressing along the edges of her sex, and the wet, lapping noises he’s making are obscene, but so are the ones dragging out of her throat. Her skin is hot in the cool air, a slight breeze drifting in from the window, and her hips jump when his tongue slides up and catches on the nub there, her fingers curling into the coverlet, and she lets out a low, hoarse moan.

He chuckles against her, his beard rasping against her thigh, the rumble of it vibrating against her skin, and one hand unfurls to grip his hair, half in retaliation, half to spur him on. 

He huffs out a breath, the air blowing hot over her, and then slides a finger over her while he focuses his mouth on the bundle of nerves.

Belle lets out a breath, her nails sliding along his scalp as he circles his fingers around her and slows his pace, ever so slightly - hardly noticeable, but enough to make her cant her hips towards him in annoyance.

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit greedy?” he asks, and Belle would scream in frustration if the tilt of his head upwards hadn’t slid the rasp of his beard over her.  


“I _think_ ,” she began, while curling a handful of his hair into her fist, “that you should finish what you started.”  


He gives her a careful, concentrated look, similar to the one he’d had in the moment before he’d knocked her flat on her back in the snow, all those months ago.

“Unless you’re not sure you can.”  


“I know what you’re doing,” he tells her. “Fortunately for you, it’s working.”  


She hums, pleased, and lets him return to his ministrations, working her into a frenzy of muffled curses and cries, the sensations overriding any thought of the thin walls of the inn and the open window facing the street. Her entire body feels coiled and tight, and the hand not currently in Adam’s hair slides over his shoulder, gripping at his arm.

It builds, and builds, while he swirls and presses, slipping a finger in and out of her wet heat while he catalogs each new noise she makes, the way she cants her hips, and finally he curls two fingers into her, catching on something that makes her toss her head back, blinking away stars, so close to the precipice of something new and wonderful.

Her fingers cling so tight to his shoulder that she’d be surprised if she hadn’t drawn blood, and his tongue slides over her just as he catches that spot inside of her. Belle feels the tension coil so tight as to be unbearable, and then it breaks, washing over her in heat and light, blinding in it’s intensity, until she feels limp and boneless, barely able to lift her head when she finally opens her eyes.

He’s watching her, his jaw tucked carefully against her, the scrape of his beard sliding across her stomach, a soft smile on his face as he takes her in, and Belle pulls the hand clenched in his hair forward, curling her fingers around to cup his cheek. He nuzzles into the touch, watching her.

“That was...”  


He hums, pleased with himself, but the soft smile doesn’t leave his eyes. “I’ve already eaten, but you look famished, my love.”

Now that her skin has begun to cool, she can feel the rise of color in her cheeks, but she leans up to face him more fully. “But...what about you?”

“It’ll keep,” he tells her, grinning, rubbing small circles into her side. “We have plenty of time.”  



End file.
